


So Search and Destroy

by theletterelle



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: (actually more of a SHIELD Trash Party this time), Face Slapping, HYDRA Trash Party, Interrogation, M/M, Nasogastric feeding, Nonconsensual fondling, Psychological Torture, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:21:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22204624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theletterelle/pseuds/theletterelle
Summary: Bucky Barnes joined up with HYDRA, betraying his country and his Captain. Phil Coulson is going to make him pay.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Phil Coulson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 27
Collections: Hydra Holiday Trash Party Gift Exchange 2019





	So Search and Destroy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AgentMal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentMal/gifts).

> Title from "Shame" by Adam Lambert
> 
> Many thanks to dragongirlG for linking me to the song, and to Rainne and buckybleeds for cheerleading and handholding! All mistakes are my own.

The call comes in at four in the morning. Only three people have this number, one of whom is asleep in the next room of their safehouse, so it’s a tossup as to who this could be. He’s pretty sure he knows. He answers. “Fury.”

“Director.”

Fury was right. “Not anymore, Director Coulson.”

“Sorry. Old habits.” There’s a tone of barely suppressed excitement in Coulson’s voice. “We got him, sir.”

“Which ‘him’ are you referring to?” Fury squints at the clock.

“Give you a hint: he perforated several of your organs, and--”

Fury sits bolt upright. “The Winter Soldier?”

“--he has a bright and shiny-- um. Yes. Yes, indeed.” Coulson sounds like he’s ready to tapdance. “All safe and secure in the Ice Box. Turns out even super-soldiers succumb to the night-night gun. Well. Night-night cannon, actually. Fitz gave the Bus an upgrade.”

Fury needs a minute to process this. “Casualties?”

“None at all. The intel was good, and it’s amazing what firing from a cloaked position can do. He never saw us coming. He’s secured in a Hulk-proof cell; it’s where we held Blonsky before sending him permanently to Alaska. We’re just awaiting your orders now, Director.”

“My orders? You’re the one calling the shots, Director.”

Coulson’s smile is audible through the line. “I figured you had a personal stake in this, sir. I wanted to give you the opportunity to have your wish granted. What do you want us to do with the man who shot you?”

It sounds like a gift, but Fury’s had gifts like this before. They don’t always turn out as you might want. “You know who’s looking for him.” It’s not a question. “You know who he is.”

“I know.” 

“You wouldn’t rather--”

“My loyalty is to SHIELD, Director. Always has been. As far as I know, Captain America is no longer a part of this organization.” Coulson has stiffened, and Fury can detect the touch of hurt in his voice. “But if you’re not interested--”

“I’m interested.” God help him, he is. The Winter Soldier is a gold mine of information on HYDRA, past and present. Fury pinches the bridge of his nose and calculates how much time is left on his current op, how long it will take him to get to the Fridge and see this for himself. “I want answers. You get them by any means necessary. If you have to light him up, light him up.”

“Understood.” Coulson’s satisfaction echoes down the line. “It will be my genuine pleasure.” He switches off before Fury can say anything more. Not that there’s anything more to be said. Fury lies back down, hands behind his head, and contemplates the ceiling in the dim light of the streetlights outside. He won’t be sleeping again tonight.

***

The Soldier’s eyes open.

No.

Bucky’s eyes open.

_Bucky Barnes,_ he says in his mind as he does each time he wakes up, _James Buchanan Barnes, 3-2-5-5-7-0-3-8._ He memorized it off the museum display, and though it still doesn’t feel like it belongs to him, he recites the litany anyway. 

His eyes dart from left to right. He can’t move his head. They’ve restrained him, whoever they are, and they haven’t done a half-assed job of it either. Tightness at his ankles, his knees, chest, forehead-- he flexes his left arm and a jolt of electricity makes his arm deaden and his teeth ache. They knew, then. They were prepared. They opened the trap, and he fell right in. _Stupid, stupid._ Despair ripples through him, but it’s replaced in a second with the cold logic of the Soldier.

Whichever level of HYDRA this is, it’s not the one that’s governed the last decades of the Soldier’s life. The Secretary is dead, the STRIKE team is dead; Bucky read the news and saw the pictures. There was even something about one of the techs, arrested for espionage and treason. The others would be laying low. All of which tells him one thing: whoever has him now doesn’t have experience. They won’t know the protocols. Won’t know what to watch for.

They might think they’re being cautious, but Bucky still has the Soldier’s unending patience. If they want to make use of him, they’ll have to let him up at some point. Have to give him a weapon. And then, and then, he’ll know just how to use it to make it fast and clean, and no one will ever be able to make him hurt anyone again. 

Bucky closes his eyes and wills his heart to calm. The restraints help, their familiar pressure confining and comfortable. All right. That’s for the worst case. Best case, he’s able to tear his way out of here and leave another chapter of HYDRA in shambles behind him. And then.

He swallows. The man’s face appears behind his eyelids. Bucky’s mind is a latticework of holes strung together with wisps of memory. The scent of gun oil, the taste of blood, the sound of screaming, the sight of the man on the bridge. _Captain America_ said the museum, and _Steve_ say those memory strands. 

Bucky longs to see him again, yet there’s nothing that scares him more.

“Good, you’re awake,” says a crisp voice from out of the air. Bucky’s eyes snap back open.

“This can go easy, if you cooperate,” the voice goes on. Male, tenor, American. “Or you can make it difficult. In fact, I might prefer it if you did. But we’ll start with an easy question first. Location of the nearest five HYDRA bases, go.”

Not HYDRA, then. His arm whirs, rebooting itself, and his relief is as intense as the electric jolt that flash-fries it again. HYDRA wouldn’t waste time trying to trick him; they’d take it for granted he’d follow orders, or they’d stick him under the halo and watch his brain burn. Bucky almost laughs out loud. “PNC Bank,” he says instead, “M and Wisconsin in Georgetown. Triskelion Building, Roosevelt Island. The Dunwich Building in Manassas. Wheaton Armory. Fort Meade, number four sub-basement.” 

There’s a pause. “Good,” says the man, and Bucky can’t tell if he means it or if he’s disappointed. “Not that we’re anywhere near DC, but I’ll admit I was unclear. Next question: is this man HYDRA?”

An image flashes on the ceiling. Rumlow. “Yes.”

“This one?”

The senator. “Yes.”

“This one?”

The man’s face is unfamiliar. “No. Or, I don’t know. I don’t know him.”

One of the techs. “Yes.”

Another one. “Yes.”

The images continue for hours, until Bucky’s voice is hoarse and his tongue is thick in his mouth. He ignores his thirst, and so does the man asking the questions. They switch to base locations. Bucky answers what he can, but he didn’t always know where he was at any given moment, and there’s a lot he’s unsure of. He’s thirstier and thirstier, and that goddamned electric jolt keeps arcing through his left arm. He’d never ask if this were HYDRA, but as it is-- “Can I have some water?”

“Just one more question first,” says the man. “Who are you?”

Bucky blinks. It’s a question he didn’t expect, and one he isn’t sure how to answer. “I. Was the Winter Soldier.”

“And now?”

A bleak smile passes across his face. “James Buchanan Barnes, 3-2-5-5-7-0-3-8.”

“No,” says the man. A jolt rattles Bucky’s teeth. “You see,” the man says, “Bucky Barnes was Steve Rogers’ best friend. They were close as brothers. Closer. James Buchanan Barnes gave his life in America’s service. He’s a hero. He’s a goddamn legend. And to think of someone like that betraying his country, turning his back on his _Captain_ in order to serve the enemy of _all that is good and decent in this world_\--” There’s feedback, and the speaker cuts off. When the man resumes, he’s calm again. “Well, someone like that doesn’t deserve water.”

***

There are more questions, hours upon hours of them. 

“Mission report, April 18, 1981.”

“Mission report, September 2, 1988.”

“Address of the safehouse in Zagreb?”

“Who supplied the ordnance for that mission?”

“Who gave the order for the kill?”

The Soldier had had an internal clock, but Bucky’s lost track of the time. He answers to prove he’s not HYDRA, that whoever these people are, they can be HYDRA’s enemies together, but the questions wear on. When the man leaves, a woman takes his place and continues. After a time, the man returns. Leaves again. The Soldier would have kept track of it all, taken it in stride, but Bucky’s been a person for more than two months now. His relearned humanity has made him weak. There are questions. Shots of electricity. More questions. Bucky would be shaking if he could move. How long has it been since he ate? How long have they been asking him questions?

His voice goes. When they can’t get any more answers, blessedly, they stop.

That’s when the music starts.

It’s loud, a pounding rhythm, with vocals that alternate between growls and shrieks. Discordant guitars make up some semblance of melody that shatters into cacophony. It’s turned up to the edge of pain and past. Bucky squeezes his eyes shut, but there’s no way to close his ears. 

_I answered,_ he wants to shout. _I’m complying._

He’s not sure it makes a difference.

***

The music punishes his ears for time out of mind, but it stops at the same time a door opens. Bucky’s eyes jerk toward it. He’s panting, lips skinned back from his teeth, his face damp with sweat. 

“Hello there.” A young woman with soft brown hair and a schoolgirl-English voice comes to his side. She pulls out a penlight and shines it into his eyes.

Bucky tries to speak, but his voice breaks, and she shakes her head. “Don’t bother. You won’t be able to in a moment anyway.”

He registers the nitrile gloves at the same time he spots the tubing. He coughs, tries again. “Just let me up. I can feed myself, if you let me sit up.” His words are cracked and slurred.

“Oh, no chance of that. No one is about to let the Winter Soldier loose. We’ve lost enough to HYDRA, thank you.” She snaps the tubing out of its plastic package and reaches for his face. 

He flinches. “Please,” he whispers.

She ignores his cringe and slides the tube into his nose. “Swallow,” she advises. “You don’t want this going into your lungs by mistake.”

The Soldier’s memory of that feeling chokes him. He obeys, constricting his throat around the tube until she nods. 

“Sixty cc’s,” she says, drawing the liquid up into a syringe. They watch together as it drips into the tube. The sight echoes down Bucky’s memory threads to a time before, scores of times the Soldier sat watching this same thing. Suddenly, absurdly, his eyes fill.

The young woman’s tongue clicks. “Now, now. That won’t do any good.” She dabs at his eyes until he can see again, then leans closer. “Cooperate,” she whispers. “If you just do as Coulson says, this will all be over soon.”

Bucky knows. The Soldier knows. Compliance will be rewarded.

***

After feeding, the questions resume. These are different.

“What did HYDRA give you?”

“Why did you work with them?

“What did they offer you to betray America?”

_Not HYDRA_, Bucky reminds himself, _not HYDRA, so give them the truth._ He tries to explain, but the holes in his memory make it hard. “They said I was theirs. I belonged to them. I couldn’t remember. I believed them.”

“So you just killed who they told you to kill?” It’s the older woman this time. She sounds skeptical.

Just. As if there hadn’t been beatings. As if he hadn’t begged for mercy when they hooked his thumbs to a car battery and set his nerves on fire. As if he hadn’t been denied food, water, sleep, until he couldn’t see straight, and he would have done anything anyone told him to make it all end. Bucky almost laughs. He’s pretty sure these people won’t have any sympathy.

“They told me I was helping bring order to the world. It was all I knew.” 

The man’s-- Coulson’s-- voice breaks in. “What do you think Steve Rogers would have to say to that?”

Bucky flinches. The more he’s learned about Steve, the more he wonders that himself. He doesn’t like the answers he’s come up with. One thing he does remember: Steve Rogers deserves better than someone like Bucky. Steve shouldn’t be involved in any of this. “I don’t know. I don’t know him.”

“You did.”

“I don’t remember.”

“You betrayed your best friend, a man who risked his life to save yours, and you just… forgot.” 

Coulson’s sarcasm flicks Bucky raw, and he casts around for something, anything, that will make him understand. That will appease him enough to let Bucky up, maybe even let him sleep for a little while. If he can just have a few moments to himself, to collect his thoughts and figure out a way to explain--

“I’m not your enemy,” Bucky says. “I want to help. Please, can I sleep now?”

“Traitors don’t deserve sleep.” The music clicks on again. 

***

Deserved or not, the music drifts into incoherence, into a blur that’s almost like sleep. Bucky’s roused by a stinging slap to the face at the same time the music’s cut off. He looks up through bleary eyes to see a small, unassuming man standing beside him.

“Please let me up,” says Bucky.

The man’s eyebrow quirks. He presses a button on a remote control in his hand. The familiar shock deadens Bucky’s arm again and brings involuntary tears to his eyes. He stares at the ceiling and blinks them away.

“Why should we allow HYDRA’s killing machine any chance at finishing the job he started?” asks Coulson.

Bucky struggles to get his thoughts together. “I left them,” he says. “I ran away. I don’t belong to them anymore. I’m not going to kill anyone.”

“You turned once, so you’ll turn again, is that it?”

Bucky can’t figure out how to answer that. Coulson slaps him in the face again. Bucky closes his eyes and consciously relaxes his body. There’s no other way to show that he’s not a threat. A third slap makes his ears ring. The fourth comes immediately afterward; he’s not ready, and it makes him bite his tongue. The taste of iron floods his mouth.

He braces for more, but when it doesn’t come, he opens his eyes. Coulson’s staring down at him meditatively. They look into each other’s eyes for a long moment, then Coulson’s mouth twitches into a half-smile. 

He reaches for Bucky’s face and runs a finger gently down his cheek. Bucky’s entire body tightens. “Aha,” says Coulson. “I thought I noticed that.” He traces a line down Bucky’s neck and along his collarbone. 

“Please don’t,” says Bucky in a tight voice. Coulson ignores him. His hand drifts down Bucky’s bare chest. “Please,” Bucky says again, and again Coulson pays no attention.

“You put up with the electricity,” Coulson muses, “and you didn’t even try to break through the straps. I could probably hit you all day and you’d lie still and take it. But when Jemma touched you, you flinched.” His finger circles Bucky’s nipple, then flicks it. 

Bucky gasps. “Stop.” His voice is hoarse.

The smile widens on Coulson’s face. “Is this what they offered?” He leans closer. “Is this why you deserted your Captain and became the enemy?”

There’s no way to respond to that, but Bucky tries anyway. “I’m not. I’m not your enemy, I’m not his--”

Coulson pinches Bucky’s nipple hard, then rubs the pad of his finger over it as if to soothe. “I just want to understand,” he says. “I grew up with the stories. The hero Captain America, and his brave companions the Howling Commandos. Bravest of all was Bucky Barnes, the Captain’s best friend since childhood. Companions on schoolyard and battlefield.” His hand splays across Bucky’s stomach, pressing against his straining abdominal muscles. 

“I’ll even admit, I was jealous of you,” Coulson says with a soft laugh. “You knew him. The real Steve Rogers, not just the Captain America most people saw. God, how I wished I could have been you.” The hand moves lower, and Bucky begins to shake.

“Imagine how I felt when I found out it was all a lie,” Coulson whispers in his ear. The hand slips beneath the waistband of his tactical pants. “Bucky Barnes didn’t die a hero’s death, on a mission fighting for America and the good of all mankind. No, he turned his coat. He became everything Steve Rogers stood against. And why?” 

Tears are escaping from beneath Bucky’s eyelids. “Please. Stop.” His voice breaks.

“Because HYDRA’s offer was just. That. Good.” With each word, Coulson slides further into Bucky’s pants, until his hand is wrapped around Bucky’s dick. He gives it a squeeze. “HYDRA seduced him, didn’t they? Filled his mind full of the glories of order, made his body respond to it until he would have done anything for them.”

It’s wrong, but there’s truth in there too-- _Good, Soldier, you want to be good for us, yes? You want the pain to stop? See how good we can be to you when you obey--_ enough that Bucky can’t figure out where the truth ends and the lie begins. His dick hardens, responsive to stimulation despite the agony of shame. Shudders rack his body as Coulson begins to stroke.

“You didn’t deserve him,” Coulson whispers. “You abandoned him. He trusted you, and you stabbed him in the back. Shot him in the gut. You belong with the other betrayers in the ninth circle of hell, frozen solid so you can reflect on your actions for eternity. But failing that, I’m here to make you pay.” 

It’s too much. Bucky can’t take the forcible gentleness, the kind voice that utters the darkest words he knows in his own soul to be true. There’s only one way the Soldier knows of to make the torture end. “I am ready to comply.”

***

Coulson meets Fury on the helipad, satisfaction in every line of his face. “He’s ready for you.”

“I expected nothing less,” Fury answers. “How long did it take?”

“Not long. Do you want to see him right away, or would you rather make him wait?”

“I’ve come a long way, Director. Let’s do this now. Plenty of time later to let him squirm on the hook if he needs to.”

“Understood. And agreed.” Coulson leads the way into the elevator, and they stand together silently as it takes them to the subterranean levels. Fury follows him through brightly lit corridors, stopping when Coulson stops at a blank gray wall and taps a button on his remote. The wall clears to show the Winter Soldier, strapped flat on his back to a table. Coulson hands Fury the remote. “Ask him what you like. He’ll sing like the proverbial canary now.” 

Coulson’s smile reminds Fury of a shark. Fury tests the mic button, clears his throat. “You’ve been a lot of trouble for a lot of people,” he says to the man on the table. “I don’t suppose you’re ready to apologize.”

The voice that comes back is strained. “I’m sorry. I am ready to comply. What are my orders?”

Fury eyes Coulson. “Orders?”

Coulson takes the remote. “Stand down until further notice. You’ll be given a mission later.”

“Understood,” says the Soldier. “May I sleep now?”

“No.”

A brief shiver runs through the Soldier’s body. He stares at the ceiling and makes no response. Coulson blanks the wall again, smile still in place. “We’ve found the key. We haven’t let him off the table yet, but he’s accepted us as his command. We don’t even have to use the music anymore; we just tell him not to sleep and he obeys.”

Coulson’s enthusiasm is more than a little disturbing. “How long has it been?” Fury asks.

“Since he arrived.”

“He hasn’t slept in a week?”

“I’m pretty sure he can go longer,” Coulson says, leading Fury further into the complex. “He’s more than just a man with a metal arm. I’m pretty sure he’s had some version of supersoldier serum, just based on his vitals and his reaction time to stimuli. Simmons is putting together some experiments. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d be able to figure out a way to replicate it. Can you imagine the difference that would make?”

Fury’s imagined it on more than one occasion. 

***

He’s preparing for bed when there’s a knock on his door. He opens it to find Melinda May. “Director Fury. May I come in?” She enters without waiting for a response, and he closes the door behind her.

“Agent May. What can I do for you?” _At this hour_ is unspoken but implied.

She hands him a folder. “Intelligence report from the Winter Soldier interrogation. I assumed you’d want it as soon as possible.”

Looks like Fury won’t be getting sleep anytime soon. “Thank you.” 

“Sir.” She doesn’t move.

He eyes her. “Is there more, Agent?”

May hesitates. “Sir. I have reason to believe that Director Coulson may be compromised.”

It’s a surprise to hear, yet not entirely. “In what way?”

“He’s too close to the situation.” She offers him a flash drive. “I think he forgot we were recording the sessions. Or maybe he didn’t care. Either way, I think you need to view this footage.”

Fury takes the drive and turns it over in his hand. “Thank you. I’ll review it.”

May nods, turns to go, then turns back. “Sir?”

“Agent?”

“Sir, SHIELD was founded to fight HYDRA. Not become them. Coulson’s heart is in the right place, but… I’m not sure he’s kept the distinction in mind.”

Fury looks at May. She gives him a level stare back. If it were any other agent, Fury might be able to dismiss those words. He can’t from her. “I’ll look into it. Thank you.”

May gives him a crisp nod and leaves. 

***

It’s after three when Fury shuts down the viewer and turns off the lights. 

He’s never been one to have pangs of conscience. His mission is as it’s always been-- protect planet Earth from those who would destroy it-- and the how has never mattered so much as the what. Theoretically, what he saw on that drive should give him no qualms.

The Winter Soldier is a danger. Fact. Anything they do to defuse that danger is a good thing to do. Also fact. So why, when he closes his eyes, does he see Steve Rogers and hear his voice? 

_The price of freedom is high. It always has been._

There have been times when freedom and safety have coincided. This isn’t one of them. And if forced to choose between the two, Fury knows which side of the divide he’ll end up on. The safety of millions matters more than the freedom of one man.

And yet.

The report is complete, a week’s worth of answers compiled into stark black and white in front of him. Names, dates, directions, details, all of it cross-checked with the SHIELD data dump and none of it pinging false. Taken at face value, the Soldier’s given them everything he has. 

Nick Fury hasn’t survived as long as he has by taking things at face value. He needs to ask the questions for himself. What he saw on that drive was disturbing, yes, but one more day won't unring whatever bell Coulson had rung. One more day won't make a difference to the soldier, but could save countless lives. One more day will give Fury the intel he needs to determine whether the Winter Soldier is a danger to be kept under lock and key forever… or something else. Something that might be salvaged.

Because like it or not, Rogers’ words have impact. And even Fury might not be immune.


End file.
